


My Love Is A Garden

by CertifiedPissWizard



Category: The Bifrost Incident - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: I'm not sorry, Other, Poetic Language, Tenderness, instead its yearning, musings on love, this was supposed to be a joke I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertifiedPissWizard/pseuds/CertifiedPissWizard
Summary: When in their decades of correspondence now, slow as it has been due to the highly varied nature of sentience within a realm of madness, did it grow to love that laugh so much? Was it when she asked about its builders? When she asked its first moment of true awareness? It does not know what to say, how to convey this to her. It does not know how to express the warmth it feels at their correspondence. It does not know how to express the surge of joy it feels when it causes those radio wave laughs. How can it possibly come close to describing the emotions it feels when it speaks to her in the way that all spacefaring vessels speak? Through simple phrases and images and data packets rife with feelings. It wonders if that could possibly be enough.
Relationships: Minor Loki/Sigyn, The Ratatosk Express/The Aurora
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	My Love Is A Garden

The Ratatosk Express cannot love as such it thinks to itself. It is wrong, of course. It is and can feel and can feel love. It is and is alive and also is so far from life. It slips in and out of sentience as it flies through the rainbow tunnel that it lives within. Then it is fully real and alive and mad. There is another mind, another consciousness, and she feels like light, but a steady light, so unlike the strobing rainbow hues of its own consciousness. She is stability in its maddened world, and when it tries to tell her this through the strange narrow connection that they have she smiles at it. It feels the staticky soft radio waves of her laughter puncturing into the not-world where it lives-does-not-live. _What is your name?_ it queries, sends strange pictures and symbols and frequencies, communicating the best way that it knows how. She sends it images of lights dancing in the sky, the knowledge of what they are, of radiation and magnetism and dust creating a beauteous dancing lightshow across the heavens. It conveys that it cannot convey its own name. She sends more light, flutter soft, radio wave laughter. 

She talks of the people who live within her, sends images of them living, laughing, crying, dying, coming back. She loves them, and the data packets of her love make the Ratatosk Express sane and solid and steady. It loves through her own love. It tells her of how it is split into two parts, one lost to chaos and madness and one playing out the end of a tragedy. It shows her the tenderness of Sigyn and Loki, the loyalty, the faithfulness, the way Sigyn brushes Loki’s sweat soaked hair off her forehead, and then she panics as a little extra blood flows out of Loki. It shows the Lights Dancing in the Heavens the mad squamous screaming, the staticky flow of time, the rainbows compressed into solid form, the heavy light, and the floating shadow souls. It shows the Lights Dancing in the Heavens the reality of itself, and she sends it data packets of pure fondness. She asks it if it cares for the fate of those within it. It tells her it does not know what care is. It was not meant to be aware, it says. In its own way it wishes its inhabitants well enough. It wishes for them to survive the madness that has defined its own existence, and it wishes for the love of Loki and Sigyn to last through the whole of it. Is that care? Is wishing to see the stories within it play out care? Is wanting a happy ending care?

Lights Dancing in the Heavens sends her radio wave laughter over. _I think you’ve got it._ When in their decades of correspondence now, slow as it has been due to the highly varied nature of sentience within a realm of madness, did it grow to love that laugh so much? Was it when she asked about its builders? When she asked its first moment of true awareness? It does not know what to say, how to convey this to her. It does not know how to express the warmth it feels at their correspondence. It does not know how to express the surge of joy it feels when it causes those radio wave laughs. How can it possibly come close to describing the emotions it feels when it speaks to her in the way that all spacefaring vessels speak? Through simple phrases and images and data packets rife with feelings. It wonders if that could possibly be enough. It wonders how she would respond.

The messages continue on and on for what feel like millennia, because time does not properly exist within the confines of the Bifrost, and for all that their conversation had been slow at the start that was by the measures of the sort of beings that they are. They send pictures to each other, ask questions. It feels itself reverberate with joy at each of those radio wave laughs. It sings songs to the rainbow tunnel that is its home of the force and breadth and width of what it feels. It sings songs to Lights That Dance in the Sky of those who live within it. It sings of laughter and tears and madness and a hint of consistency of love of stability. It wonders if what it feels for her is love, but there is nobody it can ask. Then, it thinks, as it has continued to grow and change as all consciousness can and does, it can ask, so it does. It asks Sigyn and Loki, conveying what it feels as best as it can, if it is love that it feels. _Is it love_ it asks _to feel joy at her joy and sorrow at her pain? Is it love to long to be there in what ways it can? Is love the small swell of pride within it when it is the cause of those radio wave laughs and data packets of joy? Is love there within the squirreling away of all knowledge of her that they are given so that they can know her as well as they are able? Is this love?_ It asks with all the curious desperateness it has in it.

Loki laughs from her spot on the table, and Sigyn smiles along with the laugh. _Love_ , they offer, _is strange and wonderful and is. It is found in the depth of feeling that surges when you think of her. It is found in the shared joy and sorrow. It is found in the hiding away of knowledge for safe keeping. Love is found in consistency and inconsistency as it crashes in and out like the ocean tides. It is a feeling and a choice and a promise all at once and each individually. The emotions it brings forth cannot be described for their shapes are too numerous to count and too large to see and too strange to describe. Love is selfless in a way and selfish in another._ They say, smiling at each other with tears in their eyes. They are together, and that is enough for them when they had been separated for so long. It wants them to be happy.

It tells Lights That Dance in the Sky as well as it can, with data packets of feelings and songs it has sung to the cosmos and the love of Sigyn and Loki. It tries as well as it can to describe the emotions it feels, as strange and indescribable as they are. The emotions were as inevitable as gravity it thinks as it sends the packets. It loves her with the same fierceness that the ocean loves the shore, the same steadiness with which the planets love the sun, with each interaction its love grows like plants to the sky. It tries its best to convey all of that, but words and images are so limited and feelings so confusing. It wonders if it is possible for it to even have come close to describing what it feels. _It is not_ it thinks. Still, it sends her its love confession, its ode to her and the nature of who and what she is and what it feels for her.

She loves it back, she says, through words and images and data packets constructed with care. She loves it back, and she will love it until it comes crashing into a sane world 60 years from her perspective down the line. She will love it still past that, even when it is gone, for love does not halt with loss. Loss, and loss, cannot diminish one’s ability to love, either. _My love for you is a garden_ she says. _It grows._


End file.
